The Secret Letter
by SaiyukiMarie39
Summary: The great detective Sherlock Holmes recieves a love letter from an unknown admirer. Love is the one thing Sherlock never thinks about. Could this be one mystery that Holmes can't solve?  Watson/Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: a new case

It was merely ten A.M. and I had not quite risen from my bed when my

wife informed me that I received a telegram from Sherlock Holmes. It

stated that I should meet him at his house on Baker Street immediately.

From the promptness of this message, I assumed that it was due to the

appearance of a new case. He hadn't received a case in many months and

I had begun to worry about my friend's well-being, therefore this news

was definitely a positive turn of events. I quickly put on my coat and

bid my wife farewell. Heading out the door and stepping into the hansom

cab, my mind couldn't help but wander upon what the next extraordinary

case must be about.

I arrived at 221b Baker Street perhaps a short time later than he

had expected me. Holmes was pacing up and down as he usually does while

thinking deeply. When he sees me enter the room, he jumps gleefully and

runs over to where I stand. He shakes my hand energetically and says as

if in a rush "There you are. I have been awaiting your arrival. Please,

Watson, have a seat." He pulls me over to one of the chairs by the

fireplace that I know so well and offers me a pipe.

I take up his offer, and relax in my chair smoking the pipe

luxuriously. The detective's long gaunt body lounges back in his chair

with his legs extending out in front of him. He seemed relieved that I

was here to assist him in his investigation. "I received a letter

yesterday of the utmost curiosity," he begins, "It was addressed to me

by an unknown sender. The contents of the letter are that of a romantic

interest. The letter is on my table. Pray would you read it?"

"Certainly," said I.

I grabbed the paper from the table and read it aloud.

"My dear Sherlock [it said],

I've been watching you for a long time, and you always amaze me. It's

pained me to retain my feelings from you for as long as this, but I

must truly say I cannot simply express my feelings in words. Perhaps

someday, I shall show my feelings for you in person. Until that day

comes, I wish you the greatest happiness, and farewell,

Very Truly Yours,

"What do you think of it?" asked I sincerely.

"Honestly, I do not know what to think of it," Holmes replies, "It is

a very simple message. But as I always say, the most simple of

mysteries are always the most difficult to uncover. The obvious facts

are as follows. The person who wrote this claims to have tender

feelings towards myself, and they intentionally left the name blank as

to prompt me to guess who they are. Therefore, they are keenly aware of

my analytical skills. The person stated that they have been watching me

for a long time, so then they either know me personally or have a long

time been aware of my existence and my occupation. Now Watson, before I

continue, what can you observe from the physical letter?"

I look at the paper again. "The person is very neat." I say plainly.

"Very well," Sherlock Holmes replies, "and how did you form this

conclusion?"

"There are no visible fingerprints, which would mean the sender

either has very clean fingers, or they were very careful not to touch

the paper. And they must have delivered it here themselves. If someone

else did, it would've gotten dirt on it anyway." I conclude. "Pray

continue your observation. I want to hear a professional's observation

on this."

The content Sherlock Holmes puffs on his pipe and begins. "The

sender is most likely female due to their romantic interest. They most

likely know me personally and not just by occupation since they

informally addressed me by my first name, they speak as though they

have known me personally for a while, and they are confident that they

will be able to speak to me in person. Also, the type-written letters

of my name are worn out as though this person had typed my name many

times before. Perhaps this person writes articles about me in a journal

or paper of some sort. Quite peculiar. Do you follow, my friend?"

"Very clearly," said I, "Just one curiousity, sir. What makes you so

sure the writer is female?"

"Indeed, it is not a certainty, but a most likely probability,"

Holmes replies to my queer question, "It could perhaps be a man

pretending to be a certain woman with whom he has something against and

wants to frame her for something she did not wish to write."

"Holmes, my dear!" I say, slightly taken aback at him not taking

this into consideration, "Is not it possible for you to be the object

of a man's affections? Men throughout history have been known to

occasionally find romantic interest in other men. Have you ever heard

of homosexuality? Or is this lack of knowledge perhaps another one of

those weaknesses I should add to that wonderful list of mine?"

His steel-like grey eyes widen curiously at the emphasis of my

statement. "Why, may I ask, do you feel so strongly towards this?"

"Oh, Holmes," I add, "You know how your oblivious and cruel

tendencies towards love irritate my romantic nature. I am simply

bothered by your lack of knowledge on the subject."

"Perhaps you would be interested in the fact," Holmes begins

cunningly, giving me a look of suspicion, "that I discovered the faint

scent of clean medical gloves on that letter."

His senses astound me yet again. "Are you suspecting me?"

"No, I am merely stating the facts presented upon me,"Holmes says

plainly, then smiles, "Why, are you suspecting yourself? I thank you,

however, for pointing out that it may not necessarily be a female. That

will broaden my horizons, but does not make this case any easier to

solve. On the bright side, an easy case would not be nearly as

entertaining."

It surprised me slightly that he had not further suspected me of the

letter. I fit the description flawlessly, yet he was still scanning his

brain for more information as if to draw out the process in order for

it to be as precise as possible. Surely his excellent brain must know

more than he verbalizes. Is he hiding some important facts from me, as

he did when he did not previously tell me of the letter's scent? Much

to my surprise, it was already five o'clock by the time we had finished

discussing the curious letter. I bid my companion farewell for the

night to leave for dinner with my wife, and promised Holmes I would

come back to Baker Street after dinner-time to-morrow. I went home to

see Mary, but from dinner through midnight, all I could think of was

the fantastic cold and calculating detective I have come to know as my

partner and best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

At six o'clock the following evening, I arrived at the house of

Sherlock Holmes. When I walked in, Holmes appeared to be in the most

somber of states. He sat in his chair with a distant look on his pale

aquiline features. The gray, lifeless, thinking eyes pierce into the

wall across from him. He's obviously been thinking about this little

mystery all night and didn't get any sleep.

"Watson," he says in a dark tone, "I fear I may never be able to

solve this mystery."

"Nonsense, Holmes!" Said I enthusiastically, "You were so close! You

can't give up now!"

"On the contrary," said he, "I have lost all hope. There is no way

for me to know who wrote it. This is without a doubt the hardest case I

have faced."

I stand in front of him and say in a surprised tone, "You're really

serious, Holmes? You can't think of one single being on the planet of

whom could hold feelings for you and fit the description given by the

clues you gathered?"

"Not one," says he, sadly, "Can you?"

"As a matter of fact, my dear friend," said I, "I have a very good

idea as to who it should be."


End file.
